A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos #0.1)

by Samantha Shannon

‘Honour is an axe with two blades.

When Tunuva was young, she had never dreamed that she would know a love as passionate as this. She had thought her life would be devoted above all to the tree, and her ichneumon, and the Mother. Esbar had come as a surprise. The fourth string to her lute. No, she had not expected Esbar uq-Nāra. Or the fifth string. The one that had come later.

Elderflower cheesecake, golden as a windfall, served up with boiled cream or gooseberry butter; hot griddle bread and rosehip pudding; red pears simmered in honeyed wine. And such meat: goose stuffed with apples, spit-roasted chicken, charred sausages thick with pine nuts.

pat

‘Thank you,’ Unora murmured. ‘I’m sorry I am . . . not myself. My mind is full.’ ‘Clouds are often full. And then it rains.’

He breathed in the smell of sodden grass. ‘I’ve missed autumn. I miss spring, too – the scents, the colours. One can grow tired of smelling snow.’ ‘Snow has a smell?’ ‘We have a word for it. Skethra – a scent that washes the air clean.’

Even by calling me your kite, you taught me never to look down.’

‘There are others, Father,’ she said. ‘Not for me. The House of Berethnet is the chain upon the Nameless One – but you could have founded a republic, like the Carmenti.’ ‘I could have,’ he conceded. ‘Sometimes I even wish I could agree with them. But a monarch has councillors, Glorian. Who do the people have to guide and temper them?’ ‘Each other,’ Glorian offered. ‘Books and scholars. Like the Decreer told you.’ ‘What if they make the wrong choice regardless? What if the books are filled with errors, or the scholars are dishonest – or the people choose not to listen to truth? Who is responsible for the realm?’ he asked her. ‘No one, in a republic. No single person can be held accountable. But a monarch takes responsibility. And a monarch of Virtudom answers to the Saint.’ Glorian dropped her gaze. Even though there was truth in it, her belly felt unsettled.

Cries in democracy

‘This palace is now a battlefield. Emperor Jorodu and the River Lord are the generals. You and Suzumai are their weapons.’ ‘I am no man’s weapon,’ Dumai said, nettled. ‘Then work harder. Be your own general.’

‘No doubt, with a god at your beck and call. Did you learn the art of taming dragons as a godsinger?’ At this, Dumai stopped. ‘My lord, a god cannot be tamed,’ she said quietly. ‘I am of the House of Noziken. My ancestor saved the great Kwiriki. They were bound by salt and blood, by milk and brine. It is that affinity, and that alone, that called the great Furtia to my side.’ The words swelled from the depths of her. The River Lord looked her up and down, fresh interest in his gaze. ‘Of course,’ he said, his smile brief. ‘Let us hope she will remain there, Princess Dumai. Dragons, after all, are of the sea. And the sea holds loyalty to no one.’

‘Do you know why the lakes were feared, in particular?’ ‘Tell me.’ His gaze went distant. ‘In winter, when the ice thickens and cracks, it makes . . . the most terrible sound,’ he said. ‘It’s like being underwater, hearing your own heart and blood. The roar when you hold a cup to your ear.’ His throat shifted. ‘I think it’s the song of the womb. A sound we know before we breathe, before words come to us. Some find it beautiful, but I see why the Hróthi used to fear it. I suppose it’s why they started to imagine spirits in the first place. When the ice splits over and over, it sounds like a fist knocking on a door, asking to be let free.’

They saw her body as another document to sign.

‘your pain is not my pain, but I know its shape. I am sorry for it.’

‘I won’t ask if you’re all right,’ Thrit said. ‘I’ll ask if there’s anything I can do.’

In the Priory, battle had always been a dance. War, she soon found, was something quite different. There was no joy in this brutality, no rush of exhilaration each time she landed a blow. There was only sweat and toil, which tired her faster than she had thought possible. She buried her spearhead in one creature, wrenched it

‘And miss a grand adventure in the woods?’ Thrit snorted. ‘No chance.’ Wulf smiled a little. ‘I have no plans to leave your side. You bury things, Wulf Glenn – you always have – but no matter how deep you bury what you saw on the Conviction, it will come back up. You shouldn’t be alone when it does. Even Bardholt needed to talk about the war.’

‘Yes. I mean to remind Einlek.’ She looked at her friend. ‘Helisent, you are a year my senior. On my commendation day, you told me you hoped to feel more settled, as you grew older. Do you?’ Helisent considered for a time. ‘It feels like so long since then,’ she said. ‘My mother told me we are all like roses. I always thought it means that we opened our petals, took our true form, and gradually withered. But perhaps we never stop growing. If women are flowers, we are not roses, but day’s eyes – blooming not once, but over and over, each time the light touches us.’

Just as Dumai swallowed the taste of one loss, a new cup of grief had been forced to her lips. Court had never felt so empty, nor so friendless. It would be hard to bear it when her mother left.

Sweat pricked at her brow. She looked towards Mount Ipyeda, and imagined Kanifa looking back – a ghost of him, always present, like the worn strand of rope she kept at her wrist. She thought of Nikeya, always somewhere in her mind, tucked there like a splinter. And she knew it would rip her apart, in the end – this yearning that pulled at the seams of her being, and the duty that sewed her tighter by the day, into the robes of the Empress of Seiiki.

Look past all the features a person cannot help, Queen Sabran had told Glorian once. Look at what they choose to put upon themselves.

‘You have been a gift to me, daughter. Bring us the sum of all your dreams, so we may win the battle to come. The battle that may yet decide if any of us will be left to remember.’

She had not understood her feelings. Not then. She had tucked that morning and that sweet kiss away, to cherish only in secret, in darkness – but from then on, her senses were sharp around women. A sharpening not like the tip of a blade, but like music soaring to the height of its power, or an unexpected chill, making her breath catch and her skin awaken. Some women left her with the thought that everything was new and bright.

MEN COULD NEVERRRRR

In the wake of so much fire, knowing how to nurture would be useful.

my father shaped me into his agent, the silver needle that embroiders his world.

A picture came, unbidden, of a stranger crushing into her. Her body taken over, laden, stretching and filling beyond her control, growing a seed that unfurled in the darkness. She knew that bringing it into the light would rip a deep scar through her mind, even if she recovered in body. It would all pull so hard on her line that it broke her, leaving her to sink. She had known for many years that she would not do it by choice.

‘Good evening.’ Glorian found a smile for them. ‘You are all great with child, as I am. My councillors believe my body should be well-nourished. It stands to reason that yours should be as well.’ She motioned to the bench on the other side of the table. ‘Please, eat with me.’ The women were silent. She could see the craving in their dull eyes, their hollow cheeks. ‘Queen Glorian,’ the eldest of them murmured, ‘you are so generous, to invite us to your table.’ She lifted her chin. ‘But for myself, I’ll not take one scrap of food from the heir.’ The woman with the largest belly licked her lips, glancing at the others. ‘Neither will we, Your Grace,’ she said, after a hesitation. Her voice cracked as she spoke, the desperation clear. One by one, they curtseyed, turned away from the feast, and left Glorian alone. Her belly gave a pang. Through a blur, she stared up at the ceiling. Is this what you wanted? As she wept for the first time in weeks, she willed the words to Halgalant. Is this what you wanted your kingdom to be?

Oh my god im sobbing

‘You are a sun to people like Canthe. It is your nature to warm all you see, and the sun does not ask forgiveness for shining.’